I was twelve when a stranger at a train station taught me the meaning of ugly. He forced himself on me and threatened to kill my family if I told.

I stayed silent and the ugliness grew.

Now, that word rolls in film clips through my mind. All I’ve done since my best friend, Keyon Arias, left town is cement how ugly I am. Ugly on the inside—deep down to my core. On the outside… I am a Vixen. I flash men a smile and make them moan out pleasure I control.

Not them. Never them.

After five years of being away, my beautiful boy has come back to town for his father’s masquerade ball. He’s different. Hard muscle supersedes the skin and bone of his once boyish frame. One thing hasn’t changed though: the murderous look in his eyes when he slaughters his opponents. In the ring, I see the bullied boy, all grown up, dominating in ways he couldn’t in high school.

He’s the mayor’s son. The rising MMA fighter. The beautiful one.

I’m not the Paislee Cain of before, not the sweet girl he once knew, the one who chased away his bullies. I’m the town slut. The dirty girl whose shame will never fade no matter how many men I use. He’d disown what I’ve become.

I’ve been on a one-track rail to landing Paislee in my bed since she got off the plane. Not that it’s been planned, but I convinced her that Pizza Pazza in Tampa is better than Mamma Lucia’s in Calceth. I told her about Simon during dinner, one thing led to another, and here I am unlocking the door to my duplex and letting her enter first.

She hasn’t commented on how we took my car from her hotel, how she’s basically dependent on me and my whims. But hey, I’m fucked too; it wasn’t my choice to have someone fill my head, and I didn’t ask that person to come to Florida.

We haven’t talked about tomorrow’s schedule, but I’m going to the rich dude’s house with her. He could be a total freak for all I know, so she’s not facing him alone.

“Oooh,” she whispers through a reverent puff of air like she’s never seen a cat before. Simon’s playing it up too, slinking around the corner with all the grace in the universe, stroking the doorjamb with a hip before he meanders over to us. “He’s soooo beautiful.”

“He’s just a regular old black street cat,” I say, but by the wink she shoots me, she doesn’t buy it. She read me back when too. “’Kay, fine: Simon’s awesome. Straight up the best pelt ever.”

“Pelt? You ass,” she giggles as she pets him from the top of his head and down the length of his body to his tail. Simon lifts it, happy. Any minute now, he’ll crank the volume on his purr-machine.

“Wow, he purrs loud.”

And there. For a cat, he’s being unexpectedly predictable.

“He loves the ladies,” I say, which makes her giggle more. I love to make her giggle. When she stands up again, I pull her in with one arm, fingers splayed across her spine. Firm breasts press against me, and I groan a little.

She puffs another laugh, all Simon’s fault. He’s gotten to the part of the agenda where he’s going to cramp my style. His purrs reach us from the floor, and he’s scissoring in and out between both of our legs.

“Never mind him. Look at me,” I whisper. Let my thumb and forefinger slide over her chin. The amusement recedes from her eyes when she sees that I mean business. I’m hardening. She yelps. Then she laughs out loud.

“Simon, quit it!” I say, exasperated, and bend to unhook his claws from the fabric over her knees. “I’m sorry. You see how it is now, right?

Simon’s the ass in this house. I should sell him to the highest bidder. Fifty cents flat will do. Come to think of it—I’ve got fifty cents in my pocket,” I say, kissing her down the corridor. “I could pay someone to take him. ‘Perfectly good cat with a year’s worth of free cat food.’”

Between studies, teaching, and advising, Sunniva has spent her entire adult life in a college environment. Most of her novels are new adult romance geared toward smart, passionate readers with a love for eclectic language and engaging their brain as well as their heart while reading.

Born in the Land of the Midnight Sun, the author spent her early twenties making the world her playground. Southern Europe: Spain, Italy, Greece–Argentina: Buenos Aires, in particular. The United States finally kept her interest, and after half a decade in Los Angeles, she now lounges in the beautiful city of Savannah.

This author is the happiest when her characters let their emotions run off with them, shaping her stories in ways she never foresaw. She loves bad-boys and good-boys run amok, and like in real life, her goal is to keep the reader on her toes until the end of each story.

I need to stop this wedding. My mother snuck behind my back to marry a gold-digger but he’ll not get his dirty hands on our company. Only, I arrived too late and now have to cool my heels. I never let emotions interfere with my life but I’m so pent up that, when I noticed that hooker working the room, I figure a play session will relieve my stress.

Her innocence is just an act – and we both know what the game is here. Don’t we?

A stranger, a hotel room, no word and no names. Who better to have a wild fling with? I’d been numb to the world for so long with nothing but a mountain of crushing debts. Then my father offered me a wad of cash to attend his glitzy wedding. I don’t do casual flings but, just this once, I want to be wanton and crazy. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.

Candy J. Starr used to be a band manager until she realised that the band she managed was so lacking in charisma that they actually sucked the charisma out of any room they played. “Screw you,” she said, leaving them to wallow in obscurity – totally forgetting that they owed her big bucks for video equipment hire.

Candy has filmed and interviewed some big names in the rock business, and a lot of small ones. She’s seen the dirty little secrets that go on in the back rooms of band venues. She’s seen the ugly side of rock and the very pretty one.

But, of course, everything she writes is fiction.

Want to know about new releases and secret fan only offers? Join her mailing list – http://bit.ly/160V44m

I’ve been in this billionaire’s game for a month — but something changed when half my competition was eliminated.

It feels less like a contest now … and more like an experiment.

I shouldn’t have made it past the first round. I don’t know how I did; I’m not special like the others. When I ask Daniel, he just tells me it’s complicated. Then he talks about brain chemistry, how love and sex are an addiction. He tells me how wild animals claim mates, and how he’s claimed me.

The stakes are higher.

The competition is fiercer.

I should have been kicked out long ago, but Daniel tells me I might be the needle in the haystack the company has been looking for.

“I want to show you something.” Jessica flops sideways, grabs one of my pillows, and then pulls me down by my wrist so I’m lying beside her. She puts the pillow on the bed and rolls so she’s perched on it. Her head ticks, nodding halfway, as if to beckon me closer. I come, and she doesn’t stop gesturing until I’m close enough to smell the almond in her shampoo.

Her mischievous eyes watch me. Then she reaches for the covers, which I’ve piled to one side after rising. I’ve never been a bed maker. Because fuck that.

She drags the covers over us. We’re facedown on the bed, our faces above the pillow. Jessica shoves her face into the pillow and moans.

Or, now that I listen more closely, mumbling.

“Put your face in the pillow.”

“I’ve heard that line before,” I say.

“Just do it, Bridget.”

So I do. And then Bridget mumbles again. This time I clearly hear her say, “They can’t hear sound that doesn’t hit the walls.”

I don’t know what to make of that. I raise back up, so she pulls me back down, her arm draped across my back.

“Do you remember how they said there were blind spots from the cameras? The southwest corner of the kitchen, the front lawn, thirty yards equidistant between the fountains.”

“Between the fountains,” I repeat, nodding into the pillow, feeling stupid.

“Thirty yards equidistant. Not just directly between them. There’s only forty-five yards between the fountains. You have to come away at an angle, to the south. It has to be to the south because the wall is at the same angle to the north.”

“I just remember ‘between the fountains.’” And I’m lucky I remember that. That first night, they listed so many rules and details, I stopped listening. But Jessica apparently didn’t. She lists another eight or ten places, most of which barely sound familiar.

“Were you taking notes?”

Instead of answering, she says, “The mics also have dead spots — too much ground to eavesdrop everywhere. I was out back and spotted one near the peeing fountain thing. You know the peeing fountain?”

I nod.

“Then I found two more. They’re hard to find without looking like you’re looking, if you know what I mean.”

I don’t. Not really.

“I got the model number. They seem to all be the same. And that model is semi-directional, probably because if they’re not selective, they’ll hear all the birds whistling and pots banging and clocks ticking and stuff. The noise profile is … ” And for a second it’s like I’m back in my studio, studying technical manuals.

“Are you a sound engineer or something?”

“I read a catalog once.”

“What kind of catalog?”

“I was bored,” she answers.

Jessica’s eyes flick toward the ceiling, and she runs her fingers through my hair. “Sorry,” she says about the touch. “But if we don’t do something to justify lying here in bed, they’re going to pay closer attention than we want.” And then her hand goes under the covers, starts disturbing the sheets without actually fondling me — though surely, that’s what it’s supposed to look like from the cameras’ point of view.

My eyes scan what of the room I can still see, ass up and face in the pillow as I am. I know the cameras are there, and microphones with them. And I have to admit Jessica is probably right. They’d have to use mics with a reasonably narrow profile, or there’d be too much noise to make the recordings worthwhile. Talking into a noise dampener like a big lump of foam and fabric will absorb most of what we say, keeping any little echoes from bouncing around and being heard. It’s a risk I wouldn’t take without research into what’s watching and listening to us, but Jess is acting like research isn’t necessary. She saw a model number and somehow already knew everything about that specific model … and, apparently, everything else in the catalog. It’s fucking weird. But what the hell? It’s not like I wanted to be here in the first place, so screwing up and getting booted now doesn’t bug me as much as it bothers the others. I guess it’s no more risk to trust her than anything else.

“So,” Jessica says, speaking into the pillow. “Let’s talk about Daniel for you, Trevor for me, and how the hell you’re still around.”

Author Bio:

I love to write stories with characters that feel real enough to friend on Facebook, or slap across the face. I write to make you feel, think, and burn with the thrill that can only come from getting lost in the pages. I love to write unforgettable characters who wrestle with life’s largest problems. My books may always end with a Happily Ever After, but there will always be drama on the way there.

Angie Dawson never wants to see Graham Whiting again, a complete impossibility living in Stourbridge,England, the town outside London where she and Graham grew up. His band, Banks Forest, is so hot in the UK they might as well be on fire. She can’t turn on the blooming radio or watch telly or look at a magazine without being confronted by the ’80s Fab Four, fronted by the sexy bloke she’d once called her boyfriend. Every girl in England wants him. Bloody bastard.

Desperate to escape the 24-7 Banks Forest overload, Angie takes a twoweek job working as a photographer at the Music Revolution festival in the US. Finally, she can set her mind on something other than Graham and what it was like before he started being such a wanker. Maybe she can sort out what to do with her life. If she’s lucky, she’ll meet a cracking guy who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to women. The instant she steps off the plane, she learns how daft her plan was. Banks Forest mania practically followed her across the Atlantic. Her new job puts her in Graham’s sights and he’s dead-set on winning her back. He knows the perfect things to say, the right way to kiss her and make everything brilliant again. She wants him, she wants him to be the guy he says he can be, but he’s about to go on the road for a year. How does a reunion with her ex end up being anything more than a one-night stand?

Need You Tonight by Gwen Hayes

Jacob Stone is on the run for a crime he didn’t commit, but when he’s stranded with the only woman he’s ever loved by chance, the girl he abandoned to protect two years ago, he can’t deny the need to possess her one last time. Mind, body, and soul.

Typical good girl Becky McDonald has loved bad boy Jacob since they were kids, but even as she gives in to the passion only he can ignite in her, she hides the truth. The one secret that would bring him back is the lie she can never reveal.

One night of passion. One night of need. That’s all they can have, but it will never be enough.

Kickstart My Heart by Autumn Jones Lake

Russell“Chaser” Adams knows he’s destined to take over his father’s outlaw motorcycle club one day. With Chaser’s heavy metal band close to making it big, his father encourages him to pursue his music for now. Chaser straddles his Harley and heads across the country to the Sunset Strip.

Raised in a strict family with old-world traditions and their own secrets, Mallory Delov longs for glitter and glamor instead of blood and deceit. With her father serving time, it’s the perfect time to escape his domineering grasp and pursue her lifelong dream of becoming an actress.

After nailing her first audition, Mallory is offered the part of a playful vixen who torments the lead singer of the up and coming metal band, Kickstart. Her job description calls for lots of hair tossing and ass wiggling. Not quite the career she had in mind.

She didn’t plan to fall in love either. Unlike any man she’s ever known, she can’t help being drawn to the guitar player, Chaser. He’s sweet, yet dangerous. An irresistible mixture to Mallory.

On the surface they seem like complete opposites.

Little do either of them know how much they have in common.

867-5309 by Jenny Holiday

Jenny Fields is a crusader. The editor of her college newspaper, she never met a cause she couldn’t get behind. So when the administration announces it’s tearing down the historic art building, she’s on the case. All she needs to do is get Matthew Townsend, the art department’s most talented student, on board. If she could just get the moody genius to answer his phone…

Drummer Girl by A.J. Pine

Sam Walsh is done—done with college, done with guys, done with the whole scene. After graduation tomorrow, she’ll head home, ready to start her job as an elementary school music teacher in the fall. But her roommate coaxes her out for what she promises will be an epic last night, a night that ends up changing everything.

London Calling is the up-and-coming band playing at the local bar, and Sam can’t take her eyes off the sexy drummer. When he dedicates the drummer’s choice song to her, she knows the evening might be more epic than she’d imagined. Then one kiss turns her world upside down, making her question everything she thought she wanted out of her last night at school.

Ben McCarthy is the guy behind the drums, the would-have-been 306 valedictorian who dropped out three years ago to follow his dream. Tomorrow he and the band leave for London, but for one unforgettable night, it’s just Sam, the music, and him. Can a girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground fall for the boy who reaches for the stars when the only result is a broken heart?

Young Teacher by Bobbi Ruggiero

Control freak Julia Powers hates surprises. With the skills of a ninja, she keeps her ad business and personal life in perfect order. That leaves zero time for fun, let alone men. But there’s nothing wrong with having a little crush on the guy she sees at lunchtime, is there? Sure, he’s a lot younger, but it’s only a crush. It’s not like she’s going to date him or anything.

Matthew Gordon wants nothing more than for his band Joyride to go national. While he waits for his big break, he spends his days working in a sandwich shop—a job he loathes—and teaching guitar on the side—a job he loves. His days get a bit more interesting when a mysterious woman comes in for lunch and hands him a list of her favorite songs. So imagine his surprise when she shows up at his door for guitar lessons.

Unfortunately, Julia can’t play guitar to save her life, and her frustration threatens to ruin any chance of her finding happiness—with herself, or in love. Will he ever be able to teach her that she’s perfect just as she is?

Just Like Heaven by Rachel Cowell

As a premed student, college junior Sarah Lattimore’s life is a carefullycalibrated system of studying, studying, MCAT prep courses, and more studying. She didn’t have time for a social life in high school, and she definitely doesn’t have time for one now. But when she walks into the first day of anatomy lab and sees her gorgeous TA, Sarah’s brilliant mind is suddenly racing in new directions.

Grad student Josh Chapman’s mom died of ovarian cancer when he was a teenager, and his grief and rage at the experience turned his future aspirations toward cancer research. But the unbelievably cute, nerdy, and possibly insane Sarah Lattimore is in his section, and she’s… distracting. But when admiring from afar turns to up close and personal, both their academic lives begin to fall apart. Sarah cares too much about her grades to stay with Josh and she breaks things off.

But when she makes a mistake in class that results in Josh facing expulsion, will this mean the end of his dreams? Or will Sarah realize in time that being with Josh was the smartest choice she’d ever made?

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and willed a smile onto my face. I was over Graham. I’d worked my way through it. And enduring thirty seconds of screeching girls at the newsstand was enough of a test for now.

I wound my way down to baggage claim, fetching my suitcase then out to the curb to wait for my ride to the city from an unknown volunteer for the Music Revolution Festival. Most parents would probably not be pleased by my new job, but mine were. Well, my mum was. I wasn’t sure about my dad. An award-winning photo-journalist, he hadn’t taken a picture in six months, nor had he spoken a word. Not since the stroke that left him paralyzed on one side of his body and unable to speak. Standing there, I couldn’t escape the self-doubt—first time in America, on my own, wanting to show Graham that I was not only over him, I was okay with what had happened, hoping like hell I could live up to even a fraction of my dad’s brilliance. Photographing Graham’s band left me at a serious disadvantage.

Just then a dodgy looking sky blue car wobbled past me at the curb, sputtering black fumes when it came to a stop. Dozens of band stickers blanketed the bumper—Joy Division, The Smiths, Blondie, and Tears for Fears were only the start. Out popped a girl with curly blonde hair, more blue eyeliner than I’d ever seen, and an arm loaded down with black rubber bracelets. “You must be Angie Dawson. I was told to look for a British redhead.”

My vision narrowed on her. “That’s me.”

She held out her hand to shake mine. “Welcome to Philly. I’m Darla. But people call me Gigi. I’m supposed to drive you to the hotel and make sure you have everything you need while you’re here.”

“Brilliant. Thanks.” I picked up my suitcase and followed her to the car. “The redhead I get, but what exactly makes me look British?”

Gigi shrugged, opening the car boot with her key. “I have no idea. People say stupid things, don’t they? Luckily you were the only ginger out here.”

“Ginger, huh? I take it you’ve been to England?”

“Yep. That’s what you call redheads, right?”

I nodded as she closed the trunk. “Absolutely.”

We climbed inside the car and after several attempts she got the engine running again. “First time in the States?”

“It is. I’ve been trying to get a magazine job as a photographer for over a year, and luckily, the guy at Music Maker got sacked after he was arrested for a fight in a pub. I just got hired.”

Gigi pulled onto a motorway and put in a cassette that started out with The Cutter by Echo and the Bunnymen, one of my favorite songs. With the windows rolled down, the early afternoon heat swirled our hair every which way while the car rattled as if it was held together with chewing gum and a few odd screws. “I’m just a runner,” she shouted over the music and road noise. “But I’m learning how to run sound and lights. I really want to go on the road with a band at some point. I’m such a huge music fan. I can’t think of anything more exciting than that.”

“Cool.” I didn’t offer more. Gigi would have to learn on her own how unexciting it could be to go on the road with a band, although touring with Banks Forest was likely a much higher-class affair now than it had been in the early days.

“Oh!” Gigi exclaimed. “I forgot. I have a message for you in my bag from the editor at Music Maker. They called for you at the production office this morning. It’s right in that side pocket. You can go ahead and get it out.”

I leaned down and slipped my hand into the outside compartment of Gigi’s black LeSport Sac. My heart picked up as I unfolded the paper. For the first time since I’d landed, I was thrilled by the prospects ahead, rather than dreading what would happen if things didn’t go right. I was finally a working photographer. I’d gotten a call at a major music festival production office from my employer.

For: Angie Dawson

From: Oliver Harvey, 7/11/85

Banks Forest and their road manager will meet you in hotel bar at 7 pm to discuss the band’s schedule.

And there it was. I was officially on my way. Back into the sights of Graham Whiting.

—

Excerpt from Need You Tonight by Gwen Hayes

Jacob’s eyes never rest. He glances at me briefly before scanning the swarm of disgruntled travelers around us. The logical side of my brain says that he is just being careful. People on the run have to be hypersensitive to their surroundings. The illogical poster-girl-of-a-train-wreck side thinks he just wants to get away from me as soon as possible and is looking for a break in the crowds.

“Where were you going?” he asks. Probably to be polite.

“Florida. You?” Stupid girl. “Never mind. That was dumb. You can’t tell me where you are going or where you’ve been or probably even what you had for breakfast yesterday.”

“It doesn’t really matter where I was going,” he says, glossing over my sarcasm like he always does. “Nobody’s getting out of Detroit alive tonight.” He looks at his watch. “I guess I should try to book a room.”

I follow his wrist back down to his side with my gaze. God, nothing has changed. Even his wrists turn me on. Focus, Becky. “Good luck with that. Hotel rooms are going to be scarce.”

“I suppose you already have one.”

I shrug. “You know me.”

Awkward silence.

“You look good, Becky.”

Though they are kind, the words bite into my tender heart with razor sharp teeth. They are so tame compared to the last time he told me how I looked. When he said he couldn’t get enough of my hot little body. That I made him so hard every time he looked at me. My face was forever etched in his mind.

Now I look “good.”

I smile through the jagged pain because that is what you do when it hurts to breathe. “Thanks. I don’t suppose we could grab a cup of coffee, could we?” I don’t know why I said that. Why did I just say that?

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It’s risky.”

Two years. I have missed him every day for two years. “We’re random strangers in a crowded airport today. Is it really so dangerous?”

He rubs his chin, scratching at the light dusting of stubble. “You’re not a random stranger, Becks.”

I shrug. “Nobody here knows that.” What if he says yes? What would it be like to forget, just for one hour, all the things that haunt me? Just take a step out of time. “It’s coffee, not a dark alley. I’ll help you make calls to hotels first.”

I don’t wait for an answer; I just grab his hand and pull. He’ll follow. He’ll roll his eyes, act a little miffed, and go along with me just like he always used to. Because he didn’t say no. He said he didn’t know if it was a good idea. Semantics are everything with a guy like Jacob Stone.

Twenty minutes later, after fruitless phone calls for a room, Jacob takes a long pull from his coffee and sits back in his chair, defeated. “How did you score a room? Wait, don’t tell me. You reserved it days ago, didn’t you?”

“The storm isn’t a surprise. They’ve been tracking it for a while.”

Jacob looks out the windows across the terminal. “It looks like a hurricane out there. It’s getting dark, too.”

The airport is stuffy and hot, with the temperature rising as the untraveling passengers’ moods get hotter. “I know you’ll say no, but you are welcome to crash in my room. It’s better than the floor at the gate.”

“That’s a bad idea.” Jake shuts down, just like he always did. That means no.

Now is make-or-break for what’s left of my pride. The interlude was pleasant, in its own way, but I am a realist now. A step out of time can’t take me a mile. I’ve learned the hard way that real life encroaches too soon. He’s broken my heart for the last time. I won’t beg again. This time, I’ll be the one to walk away.

“Suit yourself.” I push away from the table, slinging my carryon over my shoulder. “I’ll leave a key for you at the desk, Mr. McDonald, in case you should change your mind.” I walk just past the table and stop without turning around. “Take care of yourself.”

Kelly DeMarco is out of Marcus Chapman’s league. When they met in high school he was besotted with the blue-eyed goddess, but she never gave him the time of day.

High school is now over and the tide is turning.

Five years later, Kelly is job-hunting and the best she can find happens to be Marcus Chapman’s personal assistant. He is thrilled by this second chance and determined to win the beauty’s affections, but Kelly has no intention of falling for the “class clown.”

What you’re looking for can be hiding right in front of you.

In spite of her resolve, Marcus’s playful charm begins to chip away at Kelly’s protective veneer and she starts to realize that tall, dark and mysterious isn’t a requirement, and sometimes Mr. I Don’t Think So can actually be Mr. Perfect.

Will Kelly’s obsession with keeping up appearances push Marcus away or will he have enough drawing power to convince his favorite girl that honest love can outclass anything?

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Melissa Pearl was born in Auckland, New Zealand, but has spent much of her life abroad, living in countries such as Jordan, Cyprus and Pakistan… not to mention a nine month road trip around North America with her husband. “Best. Year. Ever!!” She now lives in China with her husband and two sons. She is a trained elementary teacher, but writing is her passion. Since becoming a full time mother she has had the opportunity to pursue this dream and her debut novel hit the internet in November 2011. Since then she has continued to produce a steady stream of books, ranging in genres from Fantasy to Romantic Suspense to Contemporary Romance. She loves the variety and is excited about the books she has coming out in 2016.

“I am passionate about writing. It stirs a fire in my soul that I never knew I had. I want to be the best writer I can possibly be and transport my readers into another world where they can laugh, cry and fall in love.”